Love, Save the Empty
by Saf Dawnheart
Summary: His master plan - to stay loyal to his Clan - had gone spiraling downhill so easily. — Crow/Feather, Crow/Leaf.


Republished, obviously. Idk why I wasn't getting any reviews before, but I made this fic a bit spiffier, so... I do write for myself, but I enjoy feedback too. :(

**_Disclaimer-_** I don't own Warriors, or the song "Love, Save the Empty." They belong to Erin Hunter and Erin McCarley, respectively.

* * *

It starts, as most of these kinds of things do, with a cliché.

Four cats, one from each Clan, have to come together and go on a long journey to save the forest. The premise in itself is so trite and romantic it makes the apprentice want to scream, because for StarClan's sake, he doesn't have _time_ for these mousebrained ventures; he's going to get his warrior name in only a few more quarter-moons if he keeps steadily working hard, Mudclaw told him so. That is the apprentice's master plan, and, really, his life code as well: work hard, become a warrior, serve WindClan as best he can. Simple.

But, as most of these kinds of things are, it's never that simple.

He follows Deadfoot's advice, almost against his own misgivings, and shows up at Fourtrees fully expecting to see only the token three of the other Clans there. What he doesn't expect is to find a nosy ginger apprentice (with a massive crush on ThunderClan's chosen to boot, even _he_ can see it) and an overly-protective older brother (honestly, RiverClan's chosen can probably protect herself, that's why StarClan chose her in the first place, right?) tagging along for the ride.

_Great._ This is the last thing he needs. He's supposed to get his warrior name soon, he doesn't need any complications throwing his plan off-track.

He tells them all so, and turns on his heel to leave. This is a waste of his time; besides (and he allows the tiniest bit of self-deprecation to slip into his thoughts), why would StarClan choose an _apprentice_ to represent WindClan? They should have picked an older warrior, like his mentor Mudclaw. Even that bumbling young warrior Onewhisker would do the trick, he has to have some common sense to make it this far after all.

So the apprentice turns away, from the other cats who are allegedly blessed alongside him.

The last thing he sees before he fully focuses on the path ahead of him again makes him falter the tiniest bit, though. And the last thought he has before even the voices of the other cats behind him fade completely is that the RiverClan chosen's eyes are a shade of light blue he's never seen before.

* * *

Naturally, he ends up going back on his own advice and accompanying them. Any cat with half a brain can see that they'll need all the help they can get, he tells himself firmly, and if StarClan's destined him to be that help, then so be it.

He can't ignore the way the RiverClan she-cat's eyes light up when he appears to the rest of them (nosy ginger she-cat and overprotective older brother included - but now he can't help but wonder what that brother is going to protect her _from,_ a thought that is reinforced when said older brother's amber eyes fix themselves unwaveringly on him).

_Focus. Journey, become warrior, serve Clan as best you can._

Too bad, Crowpaw. Things are never that easy.

* * *

The insecurities start plaguing him around the time they first enter the massive Twolegplace (Crowpaw would call it more of a deathtrap, really, but to each their own). Perhaps, he reflects bitterly, these little, yet crippling doubts would have come no matter the determination behind the thought of his master plan.

These doubts number many, and every day as Brambleclaw gets them further and further lost in Twolegplace these doubts run an infuriating little path around in Crowpaw's head. _Why haven't I gotten my saltwater sign yet? What if it's too late for the forest by the time we get back? What if –_

But doubt is weakness, so Crowpaw stifles these doubts as best he can.

* * *

Feathertail (RiverClan's chosen; a fitting name, since her pelt is just about the pale silvery color of a dove's feathers) prods him lightly in the side early one morning and asks him if he wants to help her look for prey. Of course he's skeptical at first; what self-respecting Clan cat _wouldn't_ feel just a little uneasy at the thought of letting themselves be alone with a cat from another Clan during something other than Gatherings?

Something within him tells that instinctive aggression to step back, though. And gradually, he realizes that despite her warrior training, Feathertail would never harm a cat who is important to all the Clans.

(Added to this is the fact that he can just look at her and feel like he can trust her with his life. But he pushes that to the back of his mind, because that is weakness.)

He's not quite sure what to say, to this young she-cat who possesses such beauty and strength and grace, and as they pad along the Thunderpath he realizes that other than his mother and occasionally trading insults with Squirrelpaw, he has never really addressed a she-cat before. The thought fills him with unexpected embarrassment - what kind of self-respecting warrior can't converse with cats of the opposite gender, anyway?

The awkwardness is stifling, so he tries to fill the silence with a querulous complaint about the Twolegs' lack of decent waste disposal. He half-expects Feathertail to gently reprimand him, but to his complete surprise (and why are his ears heating? Stop it, _now)_, she only purrs in laughter and reminds him that the Twolegs probably feel the same about the Clan cats' dirt in the forest.

And at seeing this she-cat display still more of her compassion and understanding, Crowpaw finds himself balking in his tracks. The old doubts arise in his mind at that moment, as he takes in the square structures of Twolegplace and wonders for the umpteenth time when they will escape this place, as he recalls Tawnypelt's expression of disgust at the salty flavor in that puddle.

He doesn't even realize he's spoken these questions aloud until he hears Feathertail draw in a sympathetic breath beside him. When that realization reaches him, he instinctively cringes (Mudclaw's words come back to him, _never let another Clan cat see your weakness, showing one's weakness can lead to death if one is not careful)_, and prepares himself for rebuke again despite his better judgment.

But Feathertail surprises him again. She only leans over and touches her nose to his ear, and he jolts as so many things surge through him at her touch: warmth, predominantly, along with a weird tingling feeling he can't _(doesn't want to)_ name. As he unconsciously inhales sharply and draws in her scent (not as fishy as he would assume, which for some stupid reason sends that weird tingling warmth throughout his body again), she murmurs only a few words in that soft voice of hers.

_We'll be okay. StarClan are watching over us._

* * *

Those words carry him throughout the rest of their journey, to Midnight's cave and to the Tribe's cave and through watching Stormfur (protective older brother) watch warily as Crowpaw and Feathertail grow closer (he'd never admit it, of course). It's stupid, that only a short comment based on the flimsiness of faith can encourage him, but unfortunately it's all Crowpaw's got to go on.

As the group treks throughout the mountains on Midnight's word, Crowpaw slowly becomes aware of his feelings toward them all changing. Squirrelpaw's enthusiasm isn't so much obnoxious now as it is rather uplifting; Tawnypelt's abrasive courage affects him as much as it does the others; Brambleclaw's calm remarks don't make Crowpaw bristle and inwardly wonder _who declared _him_ Clan leader?_ anymore; even Stormfur's dedication to his sister makes Crowpaw feel just a little better at knowing some things will never change.

Still...

Feathertail, more than all of them, has brought on such a powerful change in Crowpaw, a change he doesn't want to admit, but that he knows is there, as much as he hates to admit he's on a journey with a bunch of cats from the other Clans (who've become his _friends,_ nonetheless). Before, he would have scoffed at the thought of letting a RiverClan cat teach him how to fish; even more so at the thought of his having _feelings_ for said RiverClan cat.

Now, though, he only wants to know what will happen when this journey is over and the Clans are safe once more.

There's another change: Feathertail makes him forget all about the "master plan" he's had set for his life practically since the day he was apprenticed.

Sometimes Crowpaw welcomes that chance.

* * *

This is one of those times.

The Tribe's holding Stormfur hostage, and at the moment the others are trying to figure out a way to reunite that overprotective older brother with his sister. Crowpaw thinks, vaguely, that he should feel a little guilty for taking advantage of this time without Stormfur's watchful amber eye hovering constantly over Feathertail, but right now he doesn't really care. His mood's dark enough already, thinking about the Tribe cats' betrayal.

Feathertail offers to teach Crowpaw how to fish. He surprises himself by accepting, and follows her down to the icy mountain riverbank. In the back of his mind he grimaces with disgust at the mud surrounding the pool, but that is all swept away when Feathertail begins her lesson.

Again, he wonders what will happen after this journey's completion. It's stupid, it really is, and it goes against everything he's been taught as an apprentice, but he feels like he can trust Feathertail. More than anything he's ever known, he knows this. More than the fact that he should be able to explain this phenomenon.

He broaches the subject almost without thinking, and his feelings slip out before he can stop himself. _There's never been another cat like you, Feathertail._

For Crowpaw, this is as close to a confession of love as he'll let himself get.

And for a moment he sits there, legs suddenly trembling and his heart rutting so quickly against his chest he's suddenly terrified of just collapsing into the pool right then and there (StarClan, would that be embarrassing) –

And then Feathertail smiles.

* * *

But all good things must come to an end.

Crowpaw knows this – has known it for a while, and has tried to push it away – and yet it still comes as an immense, jarring, shattering shock when it happens.

It should be an equal trade. Life for death. Crowpaw for Feathertail.

Equivalent exchange doesn't prevail here.

_No no no no no Feathertail why don't leave me don't die don't –_

(The day they stop Sharptooth is the day Feathertail –

the day she –

and then he can't think about it anymore for fear of the tears it brings to his eyes.)

* * *

Mudclaw told him about feeling this kind of thing, once. The deputy had cornered his apprentice on the moors not long after Deadfoot had died and firmly told the black tom _grief is weakness, a crack in the armor that your enemy can worm past and overtake your defenses, and even the tiniest crack can cause your defenses to fall._

And admittedly, Mudclaw's words had only been so harsh because of his triumph at having taken Deadfoot's place; even Crowpaw, barely six moons old, could tell that much. But there is still a grain of truth to them. The tiniest crack, the tiniest falter in Crowpaw's plans had caused his resolve to falter and, in the end, shatter.

Then again, he supposes dully as they approach Highstones, that's what you get for falling in love with a cat from a different Clan.

* * *

It was supposed to end there, for StarClan's sake. Feathertail's death should have taught him the lesson that attachments bring nothing but pain.

(and in some twisted way he should feel triumphant right now, because now, _now_ he can get back to his master plan with no distractions but for the occasional fleeting memory of silver fur and blue eyes and a gentle smile, and maybe even that lilting laugh she saves – _saved_ – just for him –)

Nothing's that simple, though. More than anyone else, Crowpaw should know that nothing's that simple.

* * *

It starts innocently enough. The Clans are trying to cross the mountains without getting _too_ many cats killed, and just having to repeat the arduous journey (and to revisit the wrenching feeling in his gut, the sight of Feathertail plummeting to the ground and the sight of Sharptooth's blood spraying all over the Tribe cavern's walls) is enough to make Crowpaw want to yowl his frustration to the skies. But if StarClan wants him to do this, he reminds himself heavily, he supposes he has to do it.

He's so sick of having to force himself to care it's exhausting.

He wants nothing more than to dodge away from the group, veer off the nearest of the many cliffs in this StarClan-forsaken place and be with Feathertail again.

(That would be a direct contradiction of his master plan, though, the one thing he has left after – after – _her,_ and it's pathetic besides. And his Clan needs him.)

The massive group of cats stops at the edge of a steep gorge. If they want to keep going, they'll have to leap to the other side.

Crowpaw hears a few cats, particularly elders, muttering amongst themselves and feels an irrational twinge of anger. _I'm an apprentice and I got through this, you'll be just fine._

Scanning out of the corner of his eye, he notices a slender light brown tabby balking at the edge. He gives her a rudimentary once-over; even from this distance he can detect the scent of ThunderClan and herbs mixed together, and he deduces quickly that this must be the medicine cat apprentice of ThunderClan. Squirrelpaw's sister, Leafpaw.

He doesn't know her too well, but somehow she managed to tell Squirrelpaw Tawnypelt's rat bite would need burdock root to stem infection. In a way, Leafpaw had saved the ShadowClan chosen's life, so Crowpaw figures she can't be all bad.

For a ThunderClan cat, anyway.

He watches her hesitate and mill about the edge of the cliff for a few more moments before his shoulders dip in a small, sympathetic sigh. Strangely, he finds he can relate to her hesitation at seeing such a huge gap. Embarrassing as it is to admit, he knows he felt the same way the first time he had to cross these mountains.

So out of pity he weaves his way over to her, leans to murmur a few encouraging words into her ear.

And then (just like before; _why_ does Crowpaw keep repeating these stupid mistakes he knows he'll regret later?), as he draws back, he accidentally inhales a bit too deeply, and his world comes to a screeching, grinding halt.

For a few moments all he can do is realize, dumbly, that the distinctive fragrance of wildflowers lingers in the back of his nostrils with his resulting exhale.

Leafpaw raises her head to him and gives him a smile and a grateful nod, but he hardly notices, due to the shock and dread whirling through his mind.

No. _No._ He has no right to be thinking like this, so soon after Feathertail's death (after she'd _sacrificed herself to save him,_ for StarClan's sake). It was bad enough with Feathertail – other Clan plus older she-cat will never mix, after all – but other Clan plus medicine cat apprentice is twice as harmful to his plan.

As he watches Leafpaw bunch her muscles and make the jump across, it occurs to Crowpaw, very belatedly, that she had only dared to take such a chance after he had encouraged her.

He pushes that to the back of his mind and focuses on the journey ahead.

* * *

The decision to name himself for Feathertail is almost an afterthought, really. With all the events of the past few moons or so, the natural expectation when Tallstar limps up and requests he come forward hadn't come to the apprentice in time. He plods forward, exhausted as the others despite their night of recovery with the Tribe, and keeps his eye on his leader to keep from seeking out a soft, wildflower-scented tabby pelt and amber eyes.

Tallstar opens his mouth to utter the ceremonial words, and suddenly the apprentice realizes what he can – _should_ – do. A very small part of his mind is still leaping up and down and screaming at him for interrupting the ancient warrior ceremony with his pointless sentimental drivel, but he kicks that aside and speaks his mind anyway.

It's the least he can do for Feathertail's memory, after all.

What's even more shocking is that Tallstar agrees.

Afterward, the cats from the journey come to congratulate him on his spurt of brilliance. Crowfeather (the name feels odd even to think; he doesn't want to think of the possible reason why) perfunctorily responds to each of their comments in turn (except Stormfur, who just looks too touched for words; it's quite odd to have the cat who abhorred him so much for his closeness with his sister now feel moved due to said closeness) and goes to sit vigil by Feathertail's grave. The chance to do that is welcome, since during the group's last few, half-blurry days with the Tribe, said Tribe wouldn't let any cat come anywhere near the grave of the "sacred silver cat." (The whole thing had made Crowfeather want to claw someone, really, and he'd almost done that more than once, _almost_ due to Brambleclaw's hasty intervention.)

That, and Crowfeather welcomes the first chance to be alone with his thoughts.

As the apprentice – no, warrior now – settles down next to Feathertail's grave, inhaling and exhaling deeply, he thinks he catches a trace of wildflower on the frigid mountain breeze.

But just as soon as it comes, it is gone, replaced by an even icier presence and a soft pelt winding around his and that not-so-fishy-after-all scent wafts its way into his senses. A voice whispers in his ear, so achingly familiar that Crowfeather jolts.

_Don't be afraid to forget about me._

Then the wind blows and sweeps the voice away.

* * *

Life should go on after the journey, after StarClan _(finally, finally,_ after so much pain and struggle) so kindly graces the journeying Clans with the sight of the lake and their new home. Crowfeather should feel more than a little gratified; Feathertail died for this, after all, so it only makes sense that he should feel more than a little triumphant that everything's over.

Everything's _not_ over, though.

For the little brown tabby medicine cat apprentice with the amber eyes and sweet-scented fur who had caught his eye back in the mountains has been wandering in and out of his waking thoughts. Sleep's no relief, either: if anything Leafpaw permeates his dreams even more than when he's awake.

It starts out as a harmless string of dreams; mostly about what would have happened if Leafpaw had accompanied her sister on the first journey. Mostly about Crowfeather watching with bated breath as, using what she's learned from her mentor, Leafpaw brings Feathertail back from the brink of death.

It's the kit-tale ending to it all that Crowfeather, unrealistic as the dream is, has wanted, practically since he had looked into Feathertail's eyes in front of that mountain pool and solemnly said _there's never been a cat like you. _

However, the worst part – the condemning part – is that at the end of all those dreams, Leafpaw, crouched by Feathertail's now-shifting form, raises her head, just like she had back in the mountains; locks her clear orange eyes on Crowfeather's; and gives a breathless smile of relief.

And then he wakes up with his breath hitching in his throat and the slightest hint of wildflower in his nostrils.

* * *

It doesn't get any better from there, as Leafpaw begins to appear, alone, totally separated from his journey, in his dreams.

Dimly, when he gets time between the whole _WindClan mutiny_ thing and all, Crowfeather reflects the irony of his rebellious heart choosing Leafpaw to think about. It's ironic because when one thinks of a tom coming to love again after his precious love's death, one thinks of the second love resembling the previous she-cat. Leafpaw looks nothing like Feathertail: in build they're exactly alike, with their slender bodies and soft fur, but Crowfeather figures that's just a she-cat thing. No, Leafpaw and Feathertail are as different as leaf-fall and leaf-bare: rippling brown tabby stripes over a lighter pelt and amber eyes; pristine silvery-gray fur and ice-colored eyes.

Crowfeather wants to curse his capricious heart, but he's worried that in doing so, he'll allow himself to acknowledge what's been percolating within him since that day in the mountains where he'd breathed in just a bit too deeply.

So he lets it go on, when the only way it can go is worse.

* * *

Crowfeather tries to make his completely unjustified new obsession with ThunderClan's apprentice medicine cat go away; tries so hard it nearly kills him, really. He deliberately distances himself from the other cats on the journey for fear it will remind him of what could have been; he requests that Onewhisker (should be One_star,_ but Mudclaw won't let things calm down long enough for that to happen; the irony that the cat who's taught him most is now a traitor is palpable) place him on more patrols. To try and carry out his all-but-forgotten "master plan" and all.

One day, though, it all comes crashing down on his head.

* * *

"She said, 'tell him not to grieve.'"

Leafpaw's words are still running through Crowfeather's mind, long after the tabby she-cat has left the WindClan camp. The sight of her wide eyes staring at him as he fiercely renounced her words won't leave him, either.

Crowfeather is pleased at the announcement of the replacement for the Moonstone. Really, he is. This is the final stage of the journey that began that day, the day he had looked into those blue eyes that were like no other cat's and first met the chosen cats and the extra baggage.

He has to wince, because thinking about those blue eyes reminds him of the reason he's feeling so conflicted right now.

He takes a deep breath. Calm down, think rationally. Leafpaw wouldn't know of the dreams that have been plaguing him, StarClan have given him at least that small mercy, and she's not the spiteful kind of cat, he knows that. So if she hadn't made it all up...

Fox dung. This is _exactly _what he needs: a reminder of Feathertail and what they could have had (and it's a mixed concept for him, both welcome and unwelcome, because he _loved her so much_ and yet at the same time it would still disrupt his master plan to secretly meet a RiverClan warrior), right when time had just started to apply its tenderly healing balm to the scar on his heart.

_I don't care how long I have to wait to see her again. If she can wait, so can I!_

When he had first spat those words out at a shocked-looking Leafpaw, they had sounded so fervently. Like he'd actually believed what he was saying.

Now, though, he's more confused than ever, because with the replacement of light brown tabby for silvery gray, and amber eyes for blue, it feels like Feathertail almost... gave him permission.

As though Feathertail sees his budding obsession with ThunderClan's medicine cat apprentice, and... _approves._

Crowfeather remembers something his mother told him when he was younger. He barely remembers how the whole conversation had come about, but he does know that even as a kit, her response to his naive query had reverberated in his mind. It comes back to him now, so vividly that he can almost taste the breeze of the old moors flitting across his whiskers and hear Ashfoot's voice speaking the words.

_If you truly love someone,_ she'd said, _you will do whatever it takes to make someone happy. Even if that means that someone will embark on a path down which you cannot follow them._

Is he that "someone"? Crowfeather wonders now. And Feathertail, the "you"?

And suddenly, he understands everything.

That "master plan," as it turns out, will have to wait a little longer.

* * *

The truth of the matter is that no situation dire enough exists, at least not yet, during which he can track down Leafpaw – Leafpool now, he reminds himself – properly and try to communicate at least some kind of apology for shouting at her.

The trouble is that when he had loved Feathertail, the situation had wavered with uncertainty and peril: safe one moment, and adrenaline-producing the next, in accordance with their journey. Before, it had been easy for the rash young apprentice to bark out how he felt, because he knew he might never get the chance again.

His chance, though, comes the night Mudclaw's rebellion truly comes into fruition.

* * *

It's storming and so the sight of the ShadowClan warriors fleeing the mass of snarling, screeching, fighting cats of WindClan, ShadowClan and RiverClan alike (where is ThunderClan, he thinks fleetingly, why haven't they come to help us yet if Onewhisker is really Firestar's "kittypet"?) is all but invisible to Crowfeather's eyes through the curtain of thick rain pouring over him and plastering his fur to him. He does, however, catch Brambleclaw's gasped-out order to follow after the ShadowClan cats, and so Crowfeather heaves himself up from beneath Volepaw and scrabbles in the mud to his paws and gives chase, dodging around the constant assault of his assailants in the process.

It's difficult for him to see much of anything due to the merciless deluge of rain, but dual silhouettes up ahead serve as enough of a sign that Crowfeather's on the right track. He pelts after them, hardly able to see a fox-length ahead of him, water and mud spraying up around him, and it's only when the cries of triumph from up ahead (triumph at _what,_ Crowfeather wonders fiercely; they haven't won yet) turn abruptly into yowls of horror and fear that he gets the first inkling that something's wrong.

And that nagging twinge becomes a full-fledged wave of shock and – what is that, _terror?_ Get ahold of yourself, Crowfeather; you can't help your Clan if you're afraid, after all – when the ground beneath his front paws gives way to thin air. Thankfully, he pulls himself back from falling from the edge just in time, his heart pounding and the sick feeling of fear fading away, as he tries to ascertain what just happened as per Mudclaw's teachings.

That's probably the moment the horrified gasp sounds just beneath him and Crowfeather glances down, and then wide amber eyes framed by brown tabby fur meet his and suddenly he can't get his breath, because _Leafpool is right there dangling off the edge of ThunderClan's camp and he can't even think –_

She gasps out his name and at the sound of it he unconsciously draws in a sharp breath and oh _fox dung_ that wildflower scent is drifting across his senses again and he can't – can't do this anymore –

Crowfeather then does something incredibly stupid, something that contradicts everything his master plan (everything he thought before Feathertail and _she_ messed it all up, anyway): he hesitates, looks on while the ThunderClan medicine cat apprentice gropes desperately for a grip on the rock keeping her from life and the death that those ShadowClan warriors had just experienced, and she's begging him, saying she'll fall if he doesn't help her now, except he's not listening.

In retrospect, though, it's not exactly his fault. Because the scene before him, the _cat_ before him, is transforming, and suddenly he's fighting for even breath for an entirely different reason at the sight of Feathertail staring up at him from next to the sharp rock that had caused both her and Sharptooth's deaths. The words flow forth from him before he can stop them, the desperate apology that he hasn't realized he needed to tell her until now, the words _I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you fall._

And maybe the words _and I'm sorry for forgetting you and falling in love with Leafpool_ (for he had, StarClan forgive him; he'd fallen in love _again_ and why is he only allowing himself to acknowledge that now that she's almost gone, this is _just like last time,_ Crowfeather, why do you never learn from your mistakes) would have followed fast on the heels of their predecessors, except then Leafpool speaks. Her voice carries so much gentleness and something else he can't name at that moment that it sweeps through the reminiscent fog of sorrow over his eyes and returns him to the present.

_It wasn't your fault,_ she says softly.

So, freed from the stupor, he leans over the edge of the precipice and grabs hold of her scruff, and it occurs to him vaguely that he'd never allowed himself to get this close to even Feathertail except now it doesn't matter anymore as his weight nearly pushes them both over the edge. Thankfully, though, his will to live, for her to live, is enough to bring them both back to the solid ground above the edge.

They lay there for a moment, eyes meeting in a strange correlation of orange to paler amber. It's strange; Crowfeather has always thought of blue and orange as complementary colors, but he realizes suddenly that orange and orange will do just as well.

He hesitates, tries to think of a prickly remark to temper the heaviness of this situation – maybe something about how stupid ThunderClan is to keep their home beneath a cliff – but then her voice brings him back to the present again. He can practically feel the vibration of her entire body, including her voice, trembling through the wet ground as she whispers an earnest thank you.

And so, because the whole situation is making _him_ tremble with belated relief at knowing she's all right, Crowfeather says the first thing that comes to mind. _I did it,_ he says, _I saved you,_ and it's the truth, and strangely he doesn't even care that her eyes are amber instead of blue, that her tabby fur is the color of a leaf-fall leaf instead of the sky in leaf-bare.

She tries to lighten the atmosphere then, clearly feeling the pressure of what just happened between them, says she must be the last cat he would want to save. Unconsciously, Crowfeather's eyes widen, and then every ounce of compunction, every bit of loyalty toward Feathertail, his "master plan" – _everything he's been up until now_ – crumbles away in his mind with the force of a dam breaking and his feelings are gushing forth.

_I hate myself,_ he says, _for feeling that way so soon after she died. I don't know how a tom can be in love with two she-cats at once, but I think it might be what I think of you, because I've been having dreams night after night about you saving her, and what it might've been like if you couldn't leave your sister behind to make the journey alone. I might've fallen for you or I might've had the same feelings for Feathertail that I did – _do – _but I still know I love you now as much as I did her._

That's what he says in his mind, anyway. In reality, he keeps it shorter.

He has to maintain his dignity even this far down the line, after all.

Yet as she stares at him, breathes out some obligatory drivel about her duty and his duty and the impossibilities of what he's just suggested, he catches a spark of heat and happiness and satisfaction in her eyes, and knows – _knows_ – she feels the same way.

And when he leaves her, the "master plan" doesn't matter.

(Not for now, at least.)

* * *

Not for now.

* * *

Only later, when the stench of badgers is just fading from the air and they're standing over Cinderpelt's body and everything Leafpool now has to be in her mentor's place is crashing down on him with the force of the waterfall that Feathertail now rests near – only after he makes the attempt to escape everything that's tormented him until now with _her_ at his side does he allow the knowledge that's always lain dormant within him, taunting him and reminding him of what cannot exist between them.

_Your heart's not with me. It was never truly with me._

From the look on her face, he's hit right on the mark.

Maybe it's just him, but a tiny gasp of pain sounds at the very edge of his hearing, and he thinks he catches just the smallest glimpse of silver tabby fur in his periphery.

But then heartbreak smashes into him with the force of a powerful wave and his eyes begin to sting and he can't think about it anymore.

* * *

He returns to the WindClan camp that day surrounded by the hisses and distasteful glances and gossiping murmurs of his Clanmates (_he ran away with the ThunderClan medicine cat, can you imagine, think of what Ashfoot must think_), and all he can think of is wildflowers.

To this day he can still hear Mudclaw barking at him never to succumb to grief. He can still hear Feathertail's purr in the back of his mind, remember all the dreams of Leafpool saving Feathertail's life, feel the softness of Leafpool's tabby fur as he'd curled his body around hers on that fateful night when her Clan had needed her and she hadn't been there.

(_What about me?_ he wants to scream to the starry skies. I _needed her, and she was there for me. Why do you have to punish _her_ for something I did?_

As always, StarClan are silent.)

He should feel free, now that fate has effectively pried him away from the two cats he dared to open up to and love. The cat he had been before all this started – when he was just Crowpaw, Mudclaw's apprentice, Ashfoot's son, staring straight to the future when he could help his Clan and be everything he possibly could for WindClan's sake – would have felt that.

The cat he is now – Crowfeather, friend to cats from the other Clans, the tom who made the mistake of falling in love and losing not once but twice, who allowed himself to fall back into the present and suffered for it – only feels a weary obligation to it.

_Work hard, become a warrior, serve WindClan as best you can._

Pathetic as it is, it's all he has left.

* * *

He goes to her that very night, the night when, unbeknownst to him, Leafpool supports her father with her shoulder all the way back to ThunderClan camp and Brambleclaw buries his half-brother on the shores of that blood-stained lake (but he has no way of knowing these things). Half-blinded by his own indecisive heart as he's been, the sympathetic glances of that black she-cat, the one who he'd never noticed as anything more than a younger warrior who always bothered him in the nursery until she fought for Mudclaw on – on – _that night,_ have never escaped Crowfeather's notice.

And under normal circumstances, just the tiniest amount of pity and guilt would have penetrated the emotionless wall that has now taken up residence around his heart at what he's about to do.

But these aren't normal circumstances.

She raises her head when she hears him approach, and her eyes (amber, like hers) widen at the sight of him. Crowfeather notices the sleep that had previously been evident in her relaxed position on the ground has all but left her.

"Crowfeather," she says, stumbling a little over her words. "What… what are you doing here?"

In response, he only paces forward and sits down directly in front of her. She seems to realize the seriousness of the situation and, with one swift movement, shifts into a sitting position as well.

"Nightcloud," he says, and the ease with which the name rolls off his tongue does not fail to escape him. "I… I have a favor I want to ask you."

* * *

Life should go on as always after that. Leafpool, Feathertail, they should be easy to forget now that he has a mate and a son.

And yet things aren't that easy. He of all cats should know things are never that easy.

(because with the way he's been trying to refocus on his "master plan," he has never noticed the little things that should remind him of his sins and the way he's using Nightcloud and Breezepaw and everyone else, the hurt and longing glances from her and the furious glowers from him because they _know_ he should try, try to be a better father, but he can't stop looking at the ThunderClan border and having _thoughts_ and he doesn't know why –)

He doesn't see, though.

He tries not to see.

And so life goes on.

* * *

Standard ending complaints applied. (Wow, haven't used _that_ phrase in a while XD)

Yeah, I was originally going to end it with the part where Hollyleaf's like "oh, yeah, Crow, btw, we're your kids too. Isn't that exciting?" But I figured you all had suffered enough by this point XD, and besides, this ending sort of makes a stroke of irony, because you _know_ things aren't all okay. If you've read Sunrise, at least. Lol.


End file.
